Dark Dreamer
by Solanio
Summary: The crew of Moya awakens to find Zhaan unconscious and dying. One of them is responsible. But which one, and why?


_Farscape, the Farscape characters, and the Farscape universe are the creations of Rockne S. O'Bannon and are owned entirely by the [**Jim Henson Company**][1] and Farscape Productions. Use of these characters here is only for entertainment value, with no intent to infringe upon the rights of the owning organizations and parties._

_For further information on the Farscape Universe, please visit the [**Farscape Web Page**][2] at [**Sci-Fi.com**][3] and the [**Jim Henson Company Farscape Fan Site**][4] for episode listings, air times, and background information on the show and on the stars._

## **Dark Dreamer**

_**by Solanio - 9.1.99**_

Time: Sometime between Durka's Return and Human Reaction  
Spoilers: That Old Black Magic, They've Got a Secret, & Durka's Return

A gossamer veil of light draped over the skin of the Leviathan, tickling it with discharges of energy that pricked and stung the creature, even through its dead outer hull. While the living ship pitched and rolled, trying to find a pocket of calm space within the storm, those inside the ship tossed uncomfortably in their beds, oblivious to the charged tempest outside. Only two of the crew were awake, both aware of the storm, yet both seeing with a different mind this manifestation of celestial temper.  
Pilot of course was ever awake. He was, as he always was in times like these, the total paradox of being calmly frantic. DRDs raced along the inner causeways, their quick pace a mirror of Pilot's alarm – though in truth there was little they could do to ease the ship's discomfort. If nothing else, they served to occupy some of Pilot's many thoughts and ease his own feelings of helplessness. Where he could, he tried to identify small pockets of dead space, calm folds of nothing that were like a salve to Moya's pain, and in which she could rest for a stolen moment before the next wave of energy engulfed her.  
It was impossible for Pilot's kind to direct less or more attention to any one of the given tasks that they were about. Where all the others at times envied Pilot his ability to think about hundreds of things at once, he envied the others the blindness of their single focus. They could blot out all other thoughts to concentrate on one task whereas he, it seemed, had consciousness to spare. There was always room for worry.  
Finally, his search of the star charts yielded him the results he had hoped for. He immediately signaled Zhaan on the terrace.  
"Yes, Pilot. What is it?"  
"I have found an alternate course that will bypass the storm. It has the further advantage of saving us a good many arns on our journey – seventy-nine point two to be exact."  
Anticipating Zhaan's command to exit the storm, Pilot had already begun to make the required adjustments.  
"Thank you, Pilot. But that will not be necessary. Please maintain the present course."  
Though this was not what he had anticipated, Pilot still returned the controls to their previous settings. He and Moya were, after all, creatures of duty. But even as he was doing this, another part of him analyzed the situation and decided that he had somehow failed to communicate his discovery to Zhaan in a manner that she would understand.  
He signaled again  
"Yes, Pilot."  
"The new course is actually much shorter. We will reach the commerce planet sooner. And we will have no need to navigate the storm."  
Zhaan didn't answer at first. Simultaneously checking his communications link, which was optimum, Pilot was about to repeat himself when Zhaan replied.  
"I understand. Please maintain the present course. I will instruct you when to change it. Thank you, Pilot."  
Pilot paused, unsure of how to proceed. His ability to multitask still did not give him the faculty to anticipate this kind of answer. Finally, he decided to put the matter in terms that Zhaan would both understand and empathize with.  
"Zhaan, Moya's in a great deal of discomfort. If there is no reason to cross the storm's path"  
"There is reason, Pilot."  
Pilot thought he heard a bit of edge colouring Zhaan's voice.  
"You will see it for yourself in time. I am sorry that I cannot explain it to you."  
Pilot's reaction was to recheck all of Moya's sensory data. He saw nothing different. They were in a particle storm – a bad one.  
"Pilot?"  
Pilot had opened the communication link to Officer Sun's quarters. He felt that Zhaan's behavior merited a second opinion. But though he could multitask, he had only one voice. He would answer the Pa'u. Then he would awaken Officer Sun.  
"Pilot, I do not want you to awaken the others. They need their rest. – Do you understand this, Pilot?"  
In truth, he did not. But as a creature of duty, he felt he must obey – unless Zhaan were somehow  
"Are you feeling well, Zhaan?"  
"Yes, Pilot. Thank you. I am well. – Did you understand my instructions?"  
"Yes, Zhaan."

Light, like a fire but cold, played above her barely out of reach, and just on the edge of comprehension. Zhaan staggered forward, all the moment's effort spent to raise her eyes once more to the vision of chaos dancing above her. Were it not for the thinnest of barriers here on the terrace of Moya, the storm's savagery would have killed her long ago. Now, unable to choose which of her wrecked arms hurt the least, she decided to raise them both, touching the barrier, feeling a bit of an energy that spent itself only a fraction beyond her fingertips. It was like caressing death.  
"Are you all right, Zhaan?" Pilot's voice could be heard as a dull distant echo.  
Zhaan snatched her arms back, forcing herself to speak past the pain clenched in her muscles, past the white light burning through her eyes towards the back of her skull.  
"Yes, I am fine," she lied.  
Pilot was no doubt observing her.  
"Do you remember Dam-Ba-Da?" Zhaan asked, hoping to draw him away from the truth.  
"Yes Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan."  
Zhaan heard what was unspoken in Pilot's voice - her pleasure measured against Moya's pain. His calling her Pa'u was as much mockery, as near to anger as Pilot would dare. Still, selfish callousness he would accept. How much she knew that. But this truth, touching as it did the edge of insanity, this he would not. If Pilot even suspected the thoughts masqued by her calm smile, he would waken the others in an instant.  
"Pilot, would it be possible for some privacy, please?"  
"Yes, of course."

The Pa'u was behaving oddly. But even given this fact, Pilot could see no way around Zhaan's wishes. Pilot tried to busy himself with the tasks at hand, certainly numerous enough given the storm. But no matter how busy he tried to make himself, no matter how much attention he focused on even the minutest of Moya's functions, still there was always that part of him that was free to think, free to doubt. He checked the chronometer. It would be arns before anyone was awake. Meanwhile he continued to search for pockets of calm – both to guard the sleep of the Moya crew, and to ease Moya's suffering.

Zhaan's mind, back from oblivion, back from the threshold, surfaced through the white light. The light faded and then focused into the bands of power rippling above her. It had been the greatest surge yet and her body now refused to respond because of it. She was dead weight, so much unable to move that Moya's deck felt as if it were pressing upward, lifting her back to the storm's embrace. If only it had been enough. She had come so close. Now Zhaan felt the darkness still tugging beyond her thoughts, biding Her time, waiting for the inevitable. With considerable effort, and surprisingly even more pain, Zhaan moved her head. Radiation burns blistered her skin, while her body's ichor oozed out onto the deck – slow, but it would be enough. She had failed, but even in failure, the Goddess had left her this one last hope.  
The punishing illumination from the storm created shadows that danced upon the deck where Zhaan's eyes now focused. Like a cosmic puppet play, the shadows moved in weird rhythms that though undecipherable, captivated the eye nonetheless. Shadow and light, each sought to claim the ground yet both failing to claim anything in the end. They were but phantoms whose lives were measured in seconds and in whose passing changed nothing save to create a small moment of beauty. The sweeping intermingling bands of light and darkness spoke something personal to Zhaan, and tears flowed down her cheeks to mingle with the blue spreading pool of her spent life. This creation of chaos delighted her, helping her move past the pain. It was as if the Universe offered her one last gift as she lay dying under the silent music of stars and storm.

One of Pilot's hands hovered over the control. He surprised himself. Though it would have taken nothing to move it there once the decision was made, though it should have been attending to other matters until called upon to use it – it stayed where it was, as if that part of Pilot could not bear to move it. If only by a fractional sum, Pilot was focusing on this task more than any other. He had at last achieved the impossible. Not that it did him much good. He must be as good as his word. Privacy she had asked for, and that is what he must give her. If only.  
Pilot identified another area of calm in the storm. Purposely he steered away from it, heading instead towards the most violent part of the tempest he could find.  
"I am sorry, Moya," he said, taking to the habits of the others by speaking aloud.  
The Leviathan's objections were quickly lost as both she and Pilot struggled to maintain themselves in the fury of the maelstrom.

John Crichton was having one of his typical dreams. It was a variation of a dream John had whenever he was away from home. And he had never dreamed it so often as he had since coming aboard Moya. He sort of blamed Aeryn Sun for the frequency of this dream, thinking it was perhaps the way she smelled. He would never dare give voice to this thought. He wasn't sure how she would react knowing that she was the instigator to such passion. But every night, without Aeryn knowing of her contribution, a welcome phantom would visit John, satiating a desire denied to him while awake.  
And as was typical, it involved a beautiful woman. But this woman's beauty, perhaps unrecognizable to other males, was centered not around the loving knowing smile which often graced this dream, not in the bountiful breasts which John vaguely remembered from so long ago; but was centered around what she was carrying. John's dream Mother had baked him yet another apple pie - a la mode of course. Seeing the vanilla ice cream melting over the hot crust of a pie only moments out of the oven, John smacked his lips and laughed. Having witnessed this dream on John's face in flight school, seeing the nearly obscene mouth movements and hearing the carnal laughter, John's bunkmates had surmised that they knew the measure of John's desire and gave it no more thought. And all this of course showed how little they knew of John's sophistication. For it was not just vanilla that melted nightly on that huge slice of pie – but it was French vanilla.  
And as with all good sustained dreams, satisfaction seemed somehow to be elusive. This night however, John was managing to progress farther then he had ever remembered. His mother was standing just in front of him, so close that he could see the flakes of the crust and see the sugary apples bathed in both the pie's syrup and melted ice cream. Then the floor of the house buckled and the pie was shoved into his face. And it was the hardest most uncomfortable pie John had ever fallen down on.  
John slapped the floor, pushing his face up off of Moya's deck. His dream had been so lucid, he had to refocus to find the disappointing realization that Moya really was no dream and that the apple pie and French vanilla had been. Just to make sure, he knocked on the floor. It was a hard reality.  
"Ah, John Crichton. I see that you are awake." Pilot's voice seemed rather cheery.  
"Not for long, Pilot. I've got a date with an old friend." John crawled back into his bunk, pulling a thin blanket back over him. "I'll see you in the morning – whenever that is."  
The ship rolled violently, tossing him back out onto the floor.  
"Pilot!" John's adrenaline had woken him up sufficiently. "What the hell is going on?"  
"We are in the middle of a partical storm," Pilot answered matter of factly.  
John raced to get his pants and shoes on.  
"Pilot, did you say a partical storm?"  
D'Argo's face appeared inside of Crichton's doorway.  
"What is going on, Crichton?"  
"What are you asking me for? Ask Pilot. I just woke up. He says we're in a partical storm."  
"Why are we in a partical storm?" D'Argo continued to address Crichton.  
Rushing past D'Argo, "Why are you?" John took one look at the Luxan's face and decided to give up this line of argument as being fruitless. He instead called out to Pilot. "Pilot, why are we in a partical storm?"  
The ship heaved violently to starboard. D'Argo had to catch a bulkhead to keep from falling, using his other hand to steady John.  
Aeryn Sun, followed by Chiana, appeared around the corner, nearly piling into John and D'Argo.  
Addressing Crichton, Aeryn asked, "All right, what's going on? - Did you do something?"  
"Me?" John protested. "Look, I thought we had this discussion about blaming me for everything."  
"What the frell is going on here? I was tossed out of a most pleasant dream." Rygel said, hovering into view and having no objection to butting into John's statement to voice his own.  
"Join the club," John shot back.  
"Crichton did something to the ship," Chiana announced, "and we're trying to find out what it is."  
Pilot finally managed to put the matter to rest before Crichton could complain further. "It was Zhaan who directed that we enter the storm while you were sleeping. She claimed that it was the shortest route to the commerce planet."  
"Zhaan?" Aeryn said, looking at Crichton as if unable to still believe that he was not somehow behind all of this.  
"Zhaan?" John looked around, noting that she was not present.  
"Pilot?" D'Argo asked. "Where is Zhaan?"  
"She is on the terrace. She wanted to enjoy some of the storm's energy."  
"Patch me through then," D'Argo commanded. "Zhaan? Zhaan, answer me."  
There was no answer. The ship shuddered and jumped slightly under their feet.  
John's next question showed the concern in his voice. "Pilot, is Zhaan all right?"  
"She had requested privacy, but I will check for you."  
There was a pause, then he continued. "She is not moving. Furthermore, radiation levels on the terrace are extremely high."  
John's heart started to race. "Pilot, how high?"  
"A short exposure should not be harmful, but I would not advise remaining longer than is necessary until we clear the storm."  
D'Argo spoke up. "Pilot, take us out of this storm - immediately."  
There was an audible sigh. "Thank you, Ka D'Argo. And Moya thanks you."  
John touched Aeryn's shoulder. "Go work with Pilot to bring us out of the storm. D'Argo and I will go get Zhaan. Meet us back in the infirmary."  
Aeryn nodded and then all three rushed off, leaving Chiana and Rygel behind.  
Rygel's ears had lowered, and his stone stoic face was betraying more than a bit of unease.  
"Is it always like this?" Chiana asked, seeming more curious than upset.  
"What? - Yes," Rygel curtly answered. He turned to regard Chiana with apparent distaste. "No doubt, you will want to leave us at the first moment that you are able," he said hopefully.  
Chiana smiled and cast a sly glance towards Rygel.  
"Oh no," she purred, leaning forward to whisper in the Hynerian's ear. "This is exciting – and I do love it when it's exciting."  
The edge of her lips just brushed Rygel's ear which made him jump. Chiana laughed and then danced effortlessly over the rocking deck back to her quarters, seeming to have lost all further interest in the crisis.  


John and D'Argo were on the terrace, but neither could see much of anything under starlight. The storm was far behind them, but it had overloaded many of Moya's illumination cells – all of the ones on the terrace. They were searching with glow lanterns.  
John found her. She was a mess. Her body was burned and blistered along the arms and at the top of her head. Many of the blisters were broken and bleeding. There was a pool of blue blood all around her.  
"Zhaan – Oh no! No, no, no."  
His cry alerted D'Argo, who ran over.  
"Is she dead?"  
But it was Zhaan who answered.  
"No, my friend, but soon... You must stand back Ka D'Argo. You as well, John. – Stay clear until after I'm gone. Don't save me. You must trust me and let me die. - I am so sorry it happened like this." She looked up at the two and tried to smile, but her mouth quivered as if in pain. Then her eyes drifted shut.  
"Damn-it. Zhaan, No! You hang in there. Aeryn!," he called out. "Get the infirmary ready. We've got Zhaan and we're bringing her down. Find anything you can on radiation burns and, and, she's bleeding badly."  
Though both John and D'Argo bent down to lift her up – it was John who touched her first. – And that was the last thing he remembered.

"Well, I think she's stabilized," Aeryn announced to the assembled crew. "And I think she has a good chance to pull through." Looking at John she added, "No thanks to you. Where were you? I could have used some help in there."  
"I had to check on the rest of ship – make sure the storm didn't do us any damage."  
"We're fine," Aeryn stated, still looking annoyed with Crichton. "Pilot says we were never in any danger – nor was Moya, though the storm was very painful for her to have to pass through."  
"What of Moya's baby?" Chiana asked. "I'm surprised this Leviathan would even go into the storm, being pregnant."  
Aeryn shook her head. "I thought that too, but Pilot says that Moya and he isolated any pain from the child. It never felt a thing and slept as soundly as we did. – Now, the question is, why did Zhaan do it?"  
"She's crazy," John offered. "Probably wanted to get some more kicks like she did from those solar flares. Only, instead of getting kicks, she got kicked instead. Serves her right."  
D'Argo, who was the only one not seated, turned and scowled at John while he spoke. "I think that's a bit callus, don't you?" His voice was deep and rumbling and carried an edge of menace to it.  
"Just offering my opinion, big guy." John leaned back and crossed his arms defensively.  
"Pilot?" Aeryn called out. "Did Zhaan say anything to you about why she was up on the terrace during the storm?  
The hologram of Pilot's face appeared in the comm-shell. "No, she only asked that she not be disturbed. And I was told not to awaken any of you."  
D'Argo began to pace. "Well, it's obvious she wanted to hide something. She waited until we were all asleep. – But I cannot believe that Zhaan, of all, would wish herself dead. Something was something was, I don't know, controlling her maybe."  
"That's an interesting theory," John offered. "What made you think of it?"  
"I don't know," D'Argo grumbled. "I don't know any more than do the rest of you."  
This was enough for Chiana, who decided to protest. "What is the point of this conversation? Why don't we just ask Zhaan when she recovers?"  
"I do not recall having asked you your opinion," D'Argo reminded Chiana. "Until I do, keep quiet."  
Apparently having grown tired of all the talk, Rygel got up and left without having said anything. No one seemed to notice him leaving.

Rygel entered the infirmary, having stopped back at his cell first. Zhaan was there, lying asleep. Dressings had been applied to her arms, head and face. But everything was so still and quiet that at first Rygel thought that she might have died after all. Her cheeks and eyelids were sunken and hollow while her skin had lost its deep blue luster and seemed powdery and dry.  
Rygel sighed. "Oh, Zhaan. Whatever were you thinking?"  
Rygel pulled a small stone out of his robe and placed it beside Zhaan.  
A blue hand shot out and clamped onto Rygel's arm.  
"Ahhhh! Let go of me!" he yelled, yanking his arm free.  
Zhaan opened her eyes and turned her head to look.  
"Zhaan, you are alive," Rygel whispered.  
"Yes," she said. "Though given the way I feel, that's not much consolation."  
She reached around and picked up the object Rygel had left.  
"What's this? – A Hynerian luck stone, isn't it?"  
"Well, ah, yes, I suppose it might be." He looked at it closer. "Yes, you're right. It is a luck stone. Imagine that."  
Zhaan gave him a smile. "Thank you for your concern."  
"Oh! It's not like that. There was so much clutter in my cell; I needed someplace to put it. I thought here might do. This place" Rygel looked around, "could use a bit of decoration. And that's all. I really couldn't care less who dies around here."  
Rygel stopped and peered closer to get a better look at her. "Zhaan, why did you do it?" he whispered.  
She closed her eyes for a moment and then, with a grimace of pain, opened them again. "My body craves sleep. I'm already drifting off again." She started to close them but then, her eyes opened wide and she cried out, "She's gone. Rygel she's gone! I can't feel her anymore."  
"Who's gone, Zhaan?" Rygel looked around. "Who, Aeryn? She's in the next room. I'll get her for you."  
Zhaan grabbed Rygel, to prevent him from leaving.  
"Rygel. I'm so tired. I can't stay conscious for long. Tell me, how did I . how did I come to be here? Who brought me?"  
"D'Argo carried you down. Crichton was there too, I think."  
Zhaan's eyes fluttered. "Oh, yes. I remember. D'Argo and John, do do either of them seem – different?"  
"Different? No, they're both impossible and as dull as ever. Why? What are you getting at?"  
Zhaan rolled over to look at Rygel. Her breathing had quickened and she seemed to be struggling to stay awake.  
"Rygel, trust not D'Argo John you must, you must warn others... John D'Argo must kill."  
"Don't trust D'Argo? John must warn the others? D'Argo must kill? Zhaan, what are you saying?"  
But Zhaan had drifted off, looking more dead than asleep. Only a gentle rise and fall of her chest told the Hynerian that she was still alive.  
"What's going on here?" D'Argo stood towering over Rygel and Zhaan.  
"What?" Rygel nearly jumped out of his sled. "D'Argo! Why, she" he pointed at Zhaan. "Um, nothing. I was just checking on her."  
"Did she awaken? Did she say anything?"  
Rygel looked up at the huge Luxan, suspiciously. D'Argo had appeared so suddenly, as if he'd been skulking about and had then snuck into the room.  
"Um, no. She said nothing. She was asleep just as you see her."  
"I thought I heard my name mentioned."  
"What? Your name? No, no. I was just saying a quick Hynerian prayer. That's all."  
"Prayer? You?"  
"Yes, well it doesn't seem a bad idea right now, does it."  
Rygel activated his sled and left the infirmary as quickly as he could.

"And that's why I came straight to you," Rygel said, having finished his story.  
John was rubbing the bridge of his nose with his hands pressed together, as if in deep thought. The gesture seemed familiar but somewhat out of place for Crichton.  
"No that's good, Rygel. You did the right thing. I've been wondering myself about D'Argo. I noticed that he's been a little touchy lately. I figured it was just this thing with Zhaan."  
He looked at Rygel and took a deep breath.  
"Yeah but now, I don't know. This is just bad and getting worse."  
"So you'll warn the others?" Rygel asked.  
"Hmm? No, no, not yet. We don't have enough to go on. Nobody's going to believe us without proof. Why should they? After all, Zhaan's been pretty crazy herself lately. I think we'd just better keep an eye on D'Argo ourselves and play it by ear."  
"Play play with our ears?"  
"Nevermind, Rygel." John grabbed Rygel by the shoulders and gave them a squeeze. "It's up to you and me now, buddy. You and me."  
John got up and left and when he was assuredly out of earshot, Rygel mumbled, "Oh wonderful. Does he think that was supposed to inspire confidence?"

"So, you don't think D'Argo's been acting weird lately?"  
Aeryn, finished with cleaning her pulse rifle, put it down and turned to face Crichton.  
"No, I don't. And if you ask me, John, the only ones who've been acting strangely are you and Rygel. The pair of you have been skulking around for arns now, acting like you're on some sort of secret mission. I know this thing with Zhaan has everyone shaken; but I really did expect better of you. – And as for D'Argo, he's uneasy. We all are. Whatever possessed Zhaan to try and kill herself, well until we have some answers, none of us are going to feel right."  
She looked at him as if she were studying him.  
"What are you looking at?" he asked. It was hard not to notice her stare.  
"Why haven't you been to see Zhaan? You haven't seen her since you and D'Argo brought her down. You haven't even asked about her."  
John cleared his throat. "Well, I figured she was in good hands."  
"Good hands? I suppose that's supposed to be a compliment. But the truth is, I'm a warrior. I only know field dressing. Pilot and I have been trying to do our best by Zhaan. But you're the scientist. After Zhaan herself, you're the closest we have to a med-tech. And you haven't once set foot in the infirmary. Why is that?"  
"I'm not a doctor, Aeryn. I don't give a damn about what you think I may or may not be capable of."  
He hopped off the table he had been sitting on.  
"Look, this conversation was old before it got started. I'm sorry I bothered you."  
He walked around her and made for the door but Aeryn headed him off.  
"John, come to the infirmary with me."  
"I'm busy."  
"Doing what?" Aeryn's frustration was starting to turn to anger. "What can you possibly have to do on this ship that is more pressing than this?"  
"I can't help her. You're just going to have to live with the fact that you're all she's got. And if she dies, you're going to have to live with that too."  
He tried to move around Aeryn but she blocked him again.  
"John, why are you doing this?"  
"Get out of my way, Aeryn."  
"Not until you give me an answer I can understand. John, it's you I'm concerned about. You're acting oddly."  
John made no more attempts to leave. He bit his lip, looking down at the ground.  
Then he just started laughing. He laughed hard, and was slapping the tops of his legs. His face was turning red.  
Aeryn just stood there watching for a time with a puzzled and worried look on her face. Then she called out to Pilot.  
"Pilot, get a hold of D'Argo. Tell him to come to my cell immediately. Tell him it's about John."  
D'Argo's voice replied over the speaker cell. "Aeryn, I'm on my way."  
John was now laughing so hard that he staggered to one side and then doubled over. When he stood back up, the ruse was revealed as he jumped for Aeryn's rifle. Before she could close the distance, John had it pointing at her. He had stopped laughing, but he was smiling at her – a smile that was hard and – almost evil. Aeryn had never seen a face look like that.  
John turned the rifle around and pointed it at his own head. The evil grin disappeared. John's face was frightened. A tear appeared and slowly glistened down one cheek.  
"Aeryn, help me."  
"John! No!" She jumped forward to grab the rifle but as if anticipating this action, it was a simple matter for John to move aside. Swinging the rifle, he smashed Aeryn in the head with it, knocking her to the floor, a bloody gash in her scalp.  
He laughed again. "Too easy. You've grown soft, Peacekeeper."  
Moving back, he knelt and twisted at an angle, holding the rifle almost parallel to his chest. Then he fired. Aeryn, even through her painful daze, managed to crawl forward to try and stop him, but it was too late. – John had only grazed his own shoulder, still creating a bad plasma burn and blasting a depression in the cell wall. Grimacing in pain, John slid the rifle away from the both of them. Then he produced a knife and proceeded to slash his leg, his stomach, his forehead, his arms, and his hands.  
Covered in blood, he staggered towards Aeryn, the knife held out. She held up her hand at the last moment, ready to ward the blow, trying to focus past her concussion. But instead of stabbing her, John instead placed the knife handle in her palm, keeping it pressed between her hand and his. Then he rolled, pulling her on top of him.  
"No! Aeryn! Stop it! Aeryn! Stop! Stop it! What are you doing! It's John, for christsakes!"  
He struggled as if trying to fend off an insane attacker. At least this is how it appeared when D'Argo rushed into the room, his Qualta blade held ready. There was Aeryn, lying on top of a slashed and bloody John Crichton – a Crichton that could barely defend himself. Furthermore, John's shoulder was blackened. D'Argo could smell the burnt oil from Aeryn's plasma rifle, lying on the floor in the corner of the room."  
John let go of the knife and held his bleeding and cut hands up, as if ready to fend off yet another blow. Dazed, Aeryn was starting to focus. She looked at the knife in her hand, as did D'Argo.  
D'Argo made his decision in an instant. With the flick of his wrist, the sword was now a rifle.  
"Aeryn, put the knife down."  
Aeryn looked over at D'Argo, seeing him for the first time, seeing the rifle pointed at her. "D'Argo." She looked down at John and then at D'Argo again. "It's not John. That is not John," she pointed. "He attacked me."  
"Fine, Aeryn," John agreed, the blood covering his face and body giving the lie to her words. "Whatever you say. Just, do what D'Argo tells you. Please. Aeryn, I don't want you to get hurt. We can help you."  
D'Argo added his own words to this. "Aeryn, we can sort this out later. Right now, just put down the knife. Please, put it down."  
Aeryn looked down at John, who offered her a weak smile.  
"Aeryn, you're sick, that's all. We just need to keep you locked up. I'll come visit you. I'll – I will take care of you - personally." He smiled at her, and something in his eyes told her the true measure of what he was saying.  
"Aeryn, put the knife down," D'Argo continued to insist. "Don't make me shoot you, because you know I will do it."  
"I'm sorry, John, but this must end here." She held the knife up and then brought it down full force.  
D'Argo fired.

"You want me to track D'Argo's movements?" Pilot asked one more time. "And then tell you where he is at all times?"  
"I don't know why this concept is so difficult," Rygel insisted. "This was a prison ship. You are able to do this, am I correct?"  
"Yes," Pilot agreed. "But this is no longer a prison ship, and I respect the privacy of others whenever I can. – Especially when they've asked me to."  
"But times are very dangerous, right now," Rygel leaned forward. His small body dwarfed by Pilot's gigantic frame. "There's some sort of space madness about. First Zhaan, and then Aeryn. Who's next? If it were to be D'Argo, we'd be all slaughtered in our beds. Face it, with Aeryn locked up, there's no one to stand up to him now."  
"How is, Officer Sun?"  
"Hmm, oh her. She's fine. Just an arm wound. The murdering maniac is locked up in her cell where she belongs."  
"And John Crichton?"  
"He's up and about. – So what about it? Can't you help your old friend, Rygel?" Rygel put his hand on Pilot's shoulder.  
"Old friend?" Pilot exhaled some air, shrugging off Rygel's touch. All during the conversation, his arms continued to move about, never once stopping.  
"Rygel, as I told D'Argo, I cannot violate one of the crew's privacy unless the others agree or unless Moya is in danger."  
"But Moya is in.Wait! What did you say? Did you say D'Argo was here asking for the same thing?"  
"Yes, and I gave him the same response. Anyone who asks, I will tell them where someone is – unless that someone has told me not to. D'Argo has asked that his position not be given out, as you have."  
"What nerve! Who did he want to spy on? – I mean, who did he want to observe?"  
"All of you. He had much the same argument. He was worried that this madness might not be over."  
"It's a ruse! A ruse, I tell you! He wanted to track us. To see which us was alone at an opportune moment. Then he'd use that sword of his to cut our heads off!"  
"D'Argo does not seem to be manifesting any delusional behavior. But then I am not an expert in these matters."  
"You mark my words, Pilot," Rygel said as he departed the chamber. "This is not over yet."

"Hello, Aeryn."  
Aeryn got up. Crichton was at the doorway to her cell. He was sporting a few bandages but otherwise seemed fine. She walked over, hoping that he might come closer.  
"Feeling better?" he asked.  
"Yes. I see you've recovered quickly," she commented.  
He nodded. "It turns out the wounds were rather superficial. Good thing you only grazed me with your rifle before I could get it away from you."  
"Who are you?" she asked, getting right to the point. She looked around. "No one else is here. You can tell me."  
He shook his head. "No, that's not what you want to know. There's another question on your mind."  
Aeryn looked away for a moment. Then she looked back, right into Crichton's eyes, as if wanting to rip them out and nodded. "all right then. Where's John? Where's the real John?"  
Crichton patted his chest. "He's here. He's always been here, tucked away into a little corner, sleeping. But don't worry. I'm going to let him out now and then. I want him to witness your deaths. I want him to see how he killed all of you. And you, dear Aeryn, I'm saving for last. He cares about you even more than he realizes. Can you imagine how he'll feel, awakening to find your blood in his mouth, and your dead body lying ripped in front of him, pieces of it in his hands? His pain will be the sweetest I have felt in centuries. It will be a symphony of agony, and I will be its composer."  
John lifted his arms up and twirled in the hallway, laughing. As he turned, his arms lowered and wrapped around his chest. He stopped and began to caress his own body, rubbing his hands over his arms, the stubble on his face, his chest, then moving down to touch his own manhood. Seeing Aeryn's perplexed face, he laughed.  
"How strange it is to be in a man's body. I must say, I'm eager to satisfy a point of curiosity I've always had. I have John's memories, of course. But there's nothing like the intensity of the real moment."  
John moved forward, his eyes travelling over Aeryn in a hungry predatory way.  
"You would be the obvious choice, of course. Maybe later. But for now, you're a little too formidable. I think someone like Chiana might be more manageable."  
John stepped up to the cell door, putting his hands on the grate. He looked at Aeryn and licked his lips. "It's strange to have a man's perspective but I – or John perhaps – finds you so very very tasty. It's something about the way you smell. I don't quite understand it."  
"But I don't understand. You're a woman?" Aeryn dropped her arms as she moved closer to the cell door's grate in an absent way, not looking at Crichton.  
"You really haven't figured it out, have you. – And you've known me all this time. Aeryn, I'm Zhaan – your own dear Zotoh Zhaan."  
This caught Aeryn by surprise. "That can't be. Zhaan's in infirmary. You're not Zhaan. You're some lying pathetic entity that wants to mock anything it sees. There is nothing of Zhaan in you."  
Crichton laughed. "Very good. But it would be more correct to say there is nothing of me in Zhaan – now anyways. I'm the true Zhaan, Aeryn. I've always been the real Zhaan. What you thought of as Zhaan was only a pathetic facade – a veneer of civilization over her own true heart. She only showed you what she wanted you to see – what she thought you would want to see – kindness, gentleness, compassion and wisdom. We Delvians are a darkly passionate people. Long ago, we thought of ways to try and control these passions, to harness them and ultimately, to suppress them. Our souls became slaves to our minds – and for what? We've lost direction as a people. Our best strengths are kept in chains. If you only knew the real thoughts behind Zhaan's every smile, it would make you shrivel – even you, Peacekeeper."  
Crichton sighed.  
"That's why you never went to infirmary," Aeryn said. "You were afraid of the real Zhaan."  
Crichton nodded. "Still clinging to that fiction. Well, you'll understand, at the end, just who is real. But, I suppose there's no harm in telling you that - I'm not of this body – this pathetic human shell. My grasp on it is weaker than it would be were I back in my own body. But it's better to be here than in a Delvian prison as my more gentle sister would have it. She tried to kill me you know. Even if it meant killing herself. She felt me on the edges, taking control, breaking free. – We could have accomplished so much together. She was such a fool."  
"You'll fail. I'll tell them all – D'Argo, Chiana, Rygel."  
"What? Aeryn, why you're insane, don't you know? Some sort of space fever. Now, who would believe you?"  
Crichton caught a movement down the hallway out of the corner of his eye. Smiling, he winked at Aeryn and whispered so low that only she could hear him.  
"Do you know what's going to be the sweetest thing of all, Aeryn? After John kills you, I'll keep every moment of that pain- fresh in his mind. It'll never dull, thanks to me. He'll want to kill himself – I know it. But I won't let him. For as long as his short life lasts, I'll make him relive your death every waking moment, every dream. I'll turn the very strength of his passion into such insane agony. Do you know Aeryn, - well, no, I guess being a Peacekeeper you don't – but we Delvians know that pain and pleasure come near full circle so that one is almost indistinguishable from the other. Think of it, Aeryn. He'll weep tears of blood. And it's all because of you. If he didn't care for you so much, I could never do this to him. So, what do you think of that? Is it not perfection?"  
The animal noise that came out of Aeryn's throat was primal and powerful. The force of it, as she reached out, barely missing Crichton's throat, threw Crichton backwards. Aeryn tore at the grate, screaming.  
There was genuine fear in Crichton's eyes. He clutched this throat. He had played it too close to the edge, and the Peacekeeper had nearly ended it for him. He watched with fear as Aeryn tore at the grate – even breaking off a few parts. For a moment, he thought she might actually break through. Finally, her hands bloodied, she sagged to the floor, spent of strength.  
Remembering that they had an audience, Crichton called out, "Aeryn! Please! I'm only trying to help you. Don't you remember me? I'm John, John Crichton! Aeryn, you've got to remember. You've got to shake out of this. We need you. I need you."  
Wearing his saddest face, his shoulders sagging, John leaned against the wall for support and buried his face in his hands.  
"Crichton? Are you all right?"  
John removed his hands, seeing concern in Chiana's face.  
"Yeah, I'm fine," he said in an unconvincing voice. "It was a bad idea. I just thought maybe." He shrugged. "I think I just made it worse."  
"She's sick that's all." Chiana offered. "Are you going to be all right?"  
John nodded. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I I just wished I had someone to talk to about this." He shook his head.  
Chiana seemed to think about this. "Well I suppose you could talk to me. Would you want to? I'm not a very good listener." Chiana made this offer as if she were not convinced that it was a very good idea after all.  
"Yeah," John nodded. "Thanks. Maybe I will." He smiled. He looked at Aeryn and then his face sank. "I'm going to go get some air. – Stay clear of the door. She's not she's "  
John just waved as if unwilling to state the obvious. Chiana glanced over at Aeryn, lying panting and bloody on the floor next to the cell door. The meaning was clear.  
John left, turning once to wink back at Aeryn and point towards Chiana when Chiana's back was turned. Chiana warily walked past the cell, hugging the far wall and watching Aeryn out of her peripheral vision.  
"Chiana!"  
Chiana walked faster.  
"No wait! I need to tell you something. It's about John. He's not"  
"Yes, I know, Aeryn. He's not John. He's something evil that needs to be killed. You told us that. Good-bye." Chiana berated herself for even speaking. But part of her felt very sorry for Aeryn. She hated to see anything caged. And Chiana knew what it was to be judged insane.  
"He's not evil. He's Zhaan!" Aeryn screamed out. "He's Zhaan!"  
It was probably a bad idea to get into crazy conversations, but for some reason, Chiana had a weakness for them. Usually they had some sort of twisted logic unique to themselves. But this last statement, Chiana couldn't make sense of. Something about mentioning Zhaan made Chiana even more curious. After all, this had all started with Zhaan.  
"I'm sorry. You did say, Zhaan?" Chiana wandered back, looking warily at Aeryn, but her apprehension had been replaced by curiosity.  
"Chiana, I know you don't believe me. But that was not John Crichton. That was some part of Zhaan. Listen – Zhaan said she had a darker side. What if that darker side could be separate from the rest of her. Maybe that's the way Delvian personalities work. I don't know. I only know that Zhaan tried to control it and failed – and that it got out – into John. Probably because he was there trying to help her. Maybe because she and he shared consciousness once. I know you think I'm mad. But I'm not. And I do know we're all in danger. He intends to kill you next. Then the rest of us."  
Aeryn sighed, tired and worn.  
"Look, you know that John Crichton is no match for a trained Peacekeeper. He's an idiot in a fight. He went after Durka with a stick when Durka had a pulse rifle. – If I had intended to kill John, he'd be dead. I certainly wouldn't have covered him with a bunch of shallow superficial knife wounds, waiting for D'Argo to come along and shoot me, would I."  
Chiana twisted her head from side to side. "I see where that sort of makes sense. Well, we'll be at the commerce planet in about twenty arns. I intend to leave this ship at that point and take my chances planetside. So, I really don't care. Good theory though."  
"You won't last twenty arns. We'll all be dead by then. Look, get D'Argo. Tell him what I said. Think of it. Why did John insist on being bandaged in his cell? He's afraid of Zhaan. He won't go near her. All you need to do is to wake up Zhaan and get her and John together. If I'm wrong, nothing will happen. But if I'm right It's the only way."  
"No, it's not the only way," Chiana replied. "I know how to hide. If you're wrong – or if you're right – I'm staying low and in twenty arns, I'll be on a shuttle down on that planet. – For your sake though, I hope you're just insane."  
Chiana disappeared, running into the shadows.  
Aeryn muttered something under her breath and slammed her fist against the wall, leaving a blood smear.  
"Pilot!" she screamed. But there was no answer. "PILOT! Answer me!" But there were only echoes of her voice in the empty hallway.

Whistling, John walked into Rygel's quarters, only to be faced with a plasma pistol pointed at his face.  
"Whoah! Hey there! Hi, buddy, what's going on?" John wisely raised his hands.  
"Just back out the way you came, Crichton. I will use this if I have to."  
"Wait, wait. Rygel, pal, I thought we were buddies. What happened?"  
"I can't trust anyone right now. Leave."  
"Hey, look. If anyone should be suspicious, it should be me. I'm the one who's been attacked and cut up here. And now I get a gun pointed at me – from my ally?"  
"Hmm." Rygel nodded and lowered the pistol. "all right, I'll hear what you have to say. Then you have to leave."  
"O.K., that's fair," John agreed. "Just hear me out now. - We know that something's going on – some sort of space brain flu, or something. Any one of us could go whacky any minute now. Well, if it's you or me, no big deal. But what if it's D'Argo? I mean the big guy goes, and who's going to stop him? The guy's a walking tank. One arn later, and our butts will be served up for toast."  
Rygel seemed to think a bit trying to decipher what John had just said. "Yes, if what you said is what I think you said, I've been thinking the same thing. - And you know, he's been trying to spy on me. Pilot said so."  
"Well, the thing is, we've got to get that sword away from him. Once he looses that, he's not as much of a threat. I've already locked up the rest of the weapons where none of us can get them. We'll be at the planet in twenty arns. Maybe, it would be a safer twenty if we could keep D'Argo contained for a while."  
"But he carries that sword with him all the time now," Rygel protested. "There's no way to get it away from him."  
"Yes there is." John laid a conspiratory hand on Rygel's shoulder. "And, little buddy, here's the plan"

D'Argo was looking for Crichton. With Aeryn locked in her cell, someone would need to attend to Zhaan. D'Argo would have willingly done so, but he had little faculty for such things.  
He passed the galley where Rygel was noisily eating a plate of food cubes. D'Argo stuck his head in only to witness several cubes dribbling out of Rygel's mouth.  
"Have you seen, Crichton?"  
Rygel shook his head and went back to eating food cubes.  
"Why are you eating so many food cubes? We're going to be at a planet soon. You can get some real food."  
"I can't help it if I'm hungry," Rygel protested.  
D'Argo grumbled. The Hynerian was always hungry. The whole crew was insane or acting oddly, and all Rygel could think to do was to eat.  
D'Argo decided that he would check Crichton's quarters once again.  
"D'Argo?" Pilot's voice called out.  
"Yes, Pilot. I'm here. What is it?"  
"There is an exhaust vent that's plugged again. I'm afraid it's building up rather fast. If it isn't cleared soon, Moya will have to starburst, as she did once before, in order to release the energy."  
"Is that the same vent that Crichton was supposed to have fixed earlier?"  
"Yes, the same. Though I do think he had worked on it."  
"Obviously not very well. Pilot, where is the nearest access to the controls for this exhaust valve?"  
Pilot guided D'Argo to the nearest access, which as it turned out, was just down the corridor from the galley. It was a small hole, far too small for D'Argo to put his entire body through. Fortunately, he could squeeze his head and one arm into it and the controls were just on the other side of the wall. D'Argo quickly made the adjustment, thinking that Crichton, in some ways, was still an idiot. Then he heard the scrapping sound behind him.  
Quickly extracting his head from the hole, he was just in time to see Rygel dragging off his Qualta blade by the handle, the blade scratching the floor.  
"Rygel!" D'Argo roared, running after the Hynerian. Rygel and his sled, still dragging the sword, quickly disappeared around a corner with D'Argo in fast pursuit.  
The Hynerian could travel very quickly on that sled of his so D'Argo had to keep up a good pace just to keep him in sight. Heading for the cargo bay, Rygel made a direct line for one of the outer airlocks. Having reached it, he dropped the sword inside and then came out and hovered up, higher than D'Argo could reach.  
D'Argo ran up. "Rygel, you mudworm! Why did you take my sword?"  
"I'm afraid it had to be done," Rygel assured D'Argo. Crichton has removed all the other weapons. Now, we only needed to get rid of your sword. It's much too dangerous to have, what with this space delirium going around. For the good of everyone, I'm going to have to blast it out of the airlock."  
"No you're not!" D'Argo growled. "Not only a coward, you're acting like an idiot. Did Crichton put you up to this?" Not waiting for an answer, D'Argo strode inside the airlock to pick up his sword.  
That was what Rygel had been waiting for. Zooming down, he closed the airlock hatch, trapping D'Argo inside.  
"Rygel! Are you insane as well or are you just tired of living?" He punched the controls from his side of the lock but nothing happened.  
"Ah-ha! Sorry, D'Argo. The controls on your side have been disabled. - That was much easier than I would have thought. So, who's the idiot now, eh? Don't worry, after you've been seen to by a healer from the planet, we'll let you out. It's only a few more arns."  
Rygel clapped his hands together and laughed.

"Hi, you got a minute for that talk?" John stepped into her cell and sat down beside Chiana, examining the bundle on her cot. "Hmm, what do you have here. Quite a stash – food cubes, thermal blanket, some trade trinkets. Planning on a trip?"  
"Uh," she affected a smile, trying to hide her surprise and fear. "Aren't you supposed to ask permission before coming into someone's room?"  
"You already gave me that – with that cute little smile of yours." He slid closer to Chiana, taking her hand. "Why, you're shaking."  
She pulled her hand free. "Look, now's not a good time. I know you're sad and distraught over Aeryn, but"  
John put his hand onto Chiana's thigh, slowly moving it upward.  
"Aeryn, who? I was actually thinking very much of Chiana right now."  
Chiana laughed. "You know, with lines like that, I'm surprised human males ever get a chance to breed."  
John didn't say anything, but continued to move his hand upward while pressing his body forward. His head bent down and started to brush Chiana's neck with his lips.  
"Now is really not a good time. I'm asking you to please leave. If you don't, I'm going to have to call D'Argo." As a bit of insurance, she yelled out, "D'Argo!"  
"I think D'Argo might be just a little bit busy right now," John assured her.  
"Ah, I see," Chiana nodded. "Well, you've thought of everything. So, I guess I'll just have to take care of this myself."  
"AH!" John pulled his hand back. Two small holes oozed blood. Chiana stood up and held what looked like a knife, instead that it ended in two small different sized blades.  
"What is that?" John asked, holding his hand.  
"It's a sonic lockpick. But it doubles as a handy knife. Now, do you want to." She stopped when John produced Rygel's pistol.  
"Ooooh, that's a big one. Well, O.K. Don't get upset. I just didn't want you thinking that I was easy and all." She smiled at John. "Don't worry. I've played this game before."  
She started to unbuckle her upper garment.  
"It's kind of bright here. Do you want to turn down the lights?" she asked.  
"I like the lights just fine. Keep it going, chicky. I'm not going to have a lot of time."  
"Ah, a romantic too. Well, aren't I the lucky one," Chiana kept a closed smile while her eyes darted around the room.  
Rygel's voice came over the comm cell. "Crichton, I did it!"  
"Hey, that's great bu!"  
Crichton didn't finish as Chiana upended her cot and pushed it into his face. Then she kicked it for good measure, using her powerful legs to send Crichton and cot crashing painfully into a bulkhead.  
"Ummph!" Crichton made a muffled sound from underneath the cot as Chiana stepped on it on her way out of the room.  
Quickly tossing the cot off of him, Crichton half ran-half crawled into the hallway. Chiana was nowhere to be seen.  
"Crichton, are you there? Did you hear me? I did it!" Rygel's ecstatic voice came back.  
"That's great, Rygel. Just keep it under wraps. I'll be right there," John said, managing to keep the pain out of his voice.  
"Later," he promised Chiana. "Later."

Chiana slid to a stop just in front of Aeryn's cell. Aeryn stopped bandaging her hands with a bit of torn shirt and stood up. Chiana hit the control, opening the cell door. Aeryn walked calmly out.  
"What made your change your mind?"  
"I have a personal motto," Chiana told her. "Why get in a fight when you can have someone fight for you. – So, crazy or not, I figure you're going to go after Crichton – which suits me just fine right now."  
"Do you know where my rifle is?"  
"I don't know. – But he has a pistol."  
She started to run off but Aeryn grabbed her.  
"Where are you going?"  
"Somewhere else. Do you mind?"  
"Chiana, go find Zhaan. See if you can awaken her. She might be able to help. In any case, we have to bring John to her. Can you do this?"  
"I'm not making any promises." Chiana yanked her arm free and ran down the corridor – away from the infirmary.  
Aeryn just watched her go.  
"Pilot!" she called out. But there was still no answer. Quickly, she ran for Pilot's chamber.

"Rygel, what are you doing?" D'Argo pounded on the door to the airlock. His face filled the small window in the hatch. "I swear I'll tear you to pieces when I get out of here. And I'll feed the pieces out this airlock one by one!"  
"Temper. Temper" John said, finally arriving.  
"Oh there you are," Rygel breached a sigh of relief. "He was getting quite angry."  
"An angry Luxan, imagine that." John said, checking the controls.  
"John, let me out of here. Have you gone insane? If not, let me out of here."  
John didn't answer. Instead, he pushed the button controlling the outer hatch doors.  
"What are you doing?!" Rygel exclaimed. "You just activated the outer doors."  
"Really?" John looked back. "Rygel, you surprise me. I didn't think you paid that much attention to ship's functions. And yes, that is exactly what I did."  
"JOHN!" D'Argo pounded on the doorway. "Let me OUT OF HERE!"  
"Easy Big Guy," John said, looking at the Luxan. It'll be over in a minute."  
"But Crichton," Rygel said, hovering over to John. "This was never the plan. We were just supposed to capture him, like we did Aeryn."  
"No," John corrected him. "This was always the plan, Rygel – my plan."  
"But it's murder!"  
"Yes, it is. But don't worry. He's going to suffer a lot less than you will when your time comes."  
"What?"  
John reached out and grabbed Rygel by the neck, producing Rygel's own pistol in his face. "Recognize this?"  
"You! It was you all along! Just as Aeryn said."  
"Come along, Rygel. I've got something for you."  
John carried Rygel over to a metallic case once used to house spare parts. He opened it and dropped Rygel roughly inside.  
"Airtight. If you're lucky, I'll spend too much time with Chiana and you'll suffocate before I get back. – But don't count on it."  
Like a tomb, the cover of the case clamped down, sealing Rygel inside.  
There was the sound of a muffled explosion. D'Argo was attempting to blast his way through the inner door.  
"Enough of that horse shit," John said, punching the button that opened the outer hatch. Without equalized pressure. D'Argo and sword were hurled out into open space, blown clear by the force of the air inside the lock.  
"Sayonara, Big Guy," John said, watching the Luxan fade into darkness.

"Pilot!" Aeryn ran up, winded and sweaty.  
"Officer Sun!" Pilot was more than a little alarmed to see her. DRDs began to form a ring around Aeryn.  
"Pilot, I'm not insane. John is – possessed. It's a long story. I need to know where he is. I know how to help him now."  
But Pilot didn't say anything.  
"Pilot, please. We're friends. Remember? Please trust me."  
Pilot didn't say anything for a while, continuing to adjust his controls. "Very well, Officer Sun. I do this for our – friendship."  
The DRDs dispersed. Pilot checked his controls.  
"Very strange."  
"What? What is?" Aeryn approached the control panels and stood next to Pilot.  
"D'Argo is locked inside one of the airlocks and Rygel and John Crichton are outside.  
"What! Can you get him out?"  
"The controls appear to have been disabled."  
Aeryn didn't say anything further. Instead, she ran quickly toward the exit, disappering as quickly as she'd come.  
Pilot looked back at his monitors. John was carrying Rygel over to a case in which he placed the Hynerian, shutting him inside. Moments later, there was an explosion inside the airlock. Pilot then witnessed with horror as John opened the outer airlock, blowing D'Argo out into space. He tried to call out to John Crichton, but the comm links had been turned off, perhaps cut with the controls of the lock.  
Then John turned, facing the monitor with his pistol raised. It was as if he were looking right at Pilot. The look on his face was murder. He fired and the monitor went blank.

"Are you all right, D'Argo?" Aeryn placed another blanket over his shoulders. He had only been in vacuum a few minutes but he was nearly frozen.  
"I'll be fine. I just want to live long enough to tear Crichton's throat out. I'll leave you his heart."  
"It's not Crichton. I don't have time to explain this, but it's Zhaan. It's part of her – some bad part that's gotten inside of him. That's why she was on the terrace during the storm. She was trying to fight this part of her – or die trying. Then when you and Crichton came to find her"  
"Crichton - he touched her first." He turned to Aeryn. "I won't ask how you got out. But how did you know I was going to be shot out of an airlock?"  
"I saw it on Pilot's monitor. Just be glad I'm a quick runner. I only just got out in my Prowler when you were vented out."  
"So, what do we do now?" D'Argo raised his blade. "Kill Crichton to kill the thing inside him?"  
"No, not unless we have to. I don't know how this works. But whatever is inside of Crichton is very much afraid of Zhaan. She must have some power over it. He told me that It really doesn't belong inside of Crichton. If we can get Crichton to Zhaan"  
"If Zhaan is capable of doing anything yet. Or if Crichton hasn't killed her already."  
Aeryn shook her head. "No, he won't touch her. He won't go anywhere near her."  
D'Argo got up, still moving a bit stiffly. "Then let's go put an end to this madness."  
Aeryn put a hand up onto the Luxan's shoulder. "But D'Argo - Remember, if you kill John's body, you'll kill John too."  
D'Argo nodded. "I know, Aeryn. But if it has to be done..."

Pilot was monitoring John Crichton's leisurely progress through the ship. First, he stopped by the science lab to retrieve Officer Sun's rifle. After shooting a few DRDs, he walked directly towards Pilot's chamber. Pilot made sure to keep all other DRDs out of his way. There wasn't anything Pilot could do about it so he just watched with abstract curiosity as John passed underneath the view of one monitor only to appear on the next. Finally, Pilot didn't have to use any monitors. He only had to look up to see John Crichton pointing a rifle at him.  
"Hello, Pilot."  
"Hello, John Crichton."  
"So, we have two ways to do this. The hard way – where I blow off three of your arms, or the easy way – where I only blow off one, just for fun. Now I need you to keep me alive, but it doesn't mean I have to be pleasant about it. I've felt what it feels like to be shot by one of these things. Believe me when I say it's something you'll want to have as little of as possible. So, maybe I should just blow off one of your arms now so you'll know what I'm talking about. But I'm kind of curious how you think you're going to choose. So what's it going to be? Easy or hard?"  
"What is it you want to know, John Crichton?"  
"I want you to tell me where Chiana is."  
"Chiana? But isn't she?" Pilot seemed surprised. He looked past Crichton.  
"Oh, come on, Pilot! That is the oldest trick in the galaxy. What? I turn around and some DRDs zip out and shoot me with glue? Give me a little credit here."  
Chiana thought about saying something like, I'll give you something,' but decided to just club Crichton over the head instead. He went down like a stack of food cubes – hard.  
Chiana dropped her tool, picked up the rifle, pointing it at Crichton's bleeding skull.  
"I don't know if you can hear this, but I still like you, Crichton. I sort of liked you before, but I thought you were a little too nice. I really liked your recent edge. - But I didn't like the way you called me chicky.' I don't know how it translates for you, but in Nebari, it's more than a reason to kill."  
"Put the rifle down, Chiana."  
Chiana looked over at Aeryn and laughed. "Aeryn! What? I don't see you with a gun. Oh! I seem to have it. – Look at the bright side, Aeryn. Relationships are hell. I'm saving you a lot of grief."  
"Chiana, I believe Aeryn said to put the gun down. NOW!" D'Argo's said 'now' with a rumble that was more like a growl.  
Chiana glanced over her shoulder to see D'Argo, with his Qualta blade turned into a rifle – a rifled pointed at her head. – She shrugged and put the gun down.  
"Well, fine. If you won't let a girl have her fun, I'll just go back to my room."  
Chiana walked briskly past Aeryn, leaving John Crichton unconscious and crumpled on the floor behind her.

John was standing in a desert. A huge sea of dunes stretched before him, behind him, all around. And the sand that formed the dunes was rippled in waves of white with grey shadows, looking like soft ripples in an old washboard, one his grandmother might have used. The sky was clear and tinged with pink while high above him he counted five moons – one huge, filling the sky, others farther or smaller, but clearly visible. Faintly, he could see craters on the nearest moon, and glimmers of light in what might be cities and roads. The moons moved in the heavens and he could see their shadows racing across the sands.  
He bent down and picked up some sand, cupped in the palm of his hands. It glistened with flecks of jewel like glimmers and it turned colours as he shifted it in the intense light. I must be dreaming still, he thought to himself. That whole incident with Zhaan and the storm But this didn't feel like any dream. He pinched himself. It hurt.  
Shielding his eyes with his hand, he surveyed the horizon. From under the large moon, two figures were approaching, kicking up sand. They were too far distant to make much of them except that one was dressed in red, the other in blue. But like a dream, though he watched them the whole way, it seemed only a moment before the two were standing right in front of him.  
"Zhaan?"  
"Hello, John," Zhaan smiled at him. "It's good to see you."  
"Yeah, you too. You're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you. Which was – only a moment ago."  
John was confused, even more convinced that this was still a dream. There was no reconciling his memories with what he was seeing. He tried the pinch test again. It still hurt.  
Looking at the red figure, he saw that she was just like Zhaan. She wore the same clothing – only she was red where Zhaan was blue. The other Zhaan smiled at John, which disgusted him. Her teeth were pointed and sharp, and were coloured a bloody red as if stained.  
"John, I have to apologize. I tried something without consulting the rest of you. And I think it's caused a bit of a problem," blue Zhaan told him.  
"Problem?" John looked up. "Where are we, by the way?"  
Zhaan looked around. "We are in the Besh'a Desert, of my homeworld, Delvia. We're not really here of course. This is just a representation from my mind. In my world, which is lush and fertile elsewhere, this one desert is a place of spiritual reckoning. We come here to find ourselves and to shut out the minds of others. – That is what I was trying to do during the storm."  
"You were sucking up storm juice, trying to meditate?"  
"In a way," Zhaan laughed, her laughter sounding like music with bits of it lost in a rising wind. Sand stung his eyes, but John could hear Zhaan's voice still, over the sound of the wind. The storm passed quickly, but Zhaan's dress still moved from a slight breeze while her skin glistened from the sands that clung to it. The red Zhaan stood silently, her eyes and the set of her mouth were cruel and hard as she considered Crichton.  
"John, are you listening to me?"  
"Ah, no," he had to admit. "I can see what you mean. This place really makes you loose yourself."  
"Yes, it does. And that is what I was trying to do in the storm. Unlike Sebaceans, and Luxans, and what you humans I think are like, we Delvians crave sustained times of solitude. Where many species will go mad if kept by themselves for so long, we are quite the opposite. We need these moments of solitary reflection where we can internalize all that has happened to us or we too will go mad."  
"So, you need some space. We all do. I still don't understand the big deal."  
"I need more than space, John. I need total solitude – which is something impossible aboard a living ship. Normally, I could exist for a long time without such meditation; but I had come to a point of crisis. The storm's energy gave me a way to focus. I could use it – tap into it, remove myself from everything and everyone so that I might perform the L'io-tan-gi."  
John tried to repeat the pronunciation, but his eyes started to cross.  
"O.K. What ever you said. What is that?"  
"It's the Ritual of Separation." Zhaan paused. "John, you remember Maldis?"  
"I'd have a hard time forgetting him, Zhaan."  
"When I helped you to defeat him, I opened a door to an inner part of me. I tapped into something dark and evil, violent and cruel. Once I'd opened that door, there was no way for me to close it."  
Zhaan touched the palms of her hands together and brought her forefingers up to touch the bridge of her nose, as if in some abstract prayer. She stayed this way for a moment before continuing.  
"I was loosing to my darker side. You don't know how hard I'd worked to overcome it, before I became a Priest. Then, I was able to bring it inside myself and keep it contained in a forgotten place. But this requires a great deal of time and total solitude. I found my awakening in a Peacekeeper cell. The Peacekeepers thought they were torturing by keeping me alone and isolated for years, when in fact, they were giving me what I needed to find my salvation."  
Zhaan lifted her arm, and Crichton's eyes followed its sweep to see the desert.  
"Onboard Moya, without this isolation, I couldn't even begin the task. We were – are – hunted. We're never in one place long enough for me to find the solitude I needed. The storm provided me an opportunity to use its energy to blank out all other life. I knew the risks. But I should have warned the rest of you. I didn't because I thought you might not allow it."  
John shook his head and took Zhaan's hand in his own. "Zhaan, we're your friends. We would have tried to help in any way we could. Why didn't you come to us?"  
"I was ashamed. I was becoming what I'd feared most. Every day I felt I was less of me and more of Her." The blue Zhaan indicated the red Zhaan. "I had no Besh'a to hide in while I faced down my darkness. So, I determined to try the L'io-tan-gi, hoping that I could distill Her from me. In its basic form, the ritual creates two separate personalities, both different from the original. One is the core personality, made up of values the person was trying to preserve – the other is made up of all those elements that were removed and unwanted. The personalities struggle and the winner becomes the new person. The other becomes a separate living entity, but one without a home. Unless it can find one, it will die. In my world, this is a banned ritual since there is no assurance that the better nature will win. But in my desperation, I felt I had no choice."  
"So, let me get this straight," John held up his finger. "Are you telling me that you were trying for a spiritual shortcut – by creating two Zhaans, one good, one not so good? Then you were going to dump the not-so-good?"  
Zhaan nodded.  
"But you won your fight, Zhaan," John said. "You beat her in the end."  
Zhaan gave a thin smile and then shook her head.  
"No, John. I did not. She was stronger – and would have won. When I felt that I was loosing the struggle, I made sure that I absorbed enough storm radiation that it would be impossible for me to survive. She might win our body, but she would die helpless in the end. The rest of you would never know of my failure. She is everything of me that is twisted and perverted, an entity of pure distilled evil. I could never let her be free. Can you see now why I feared loosing to her – of becoming her?"  
"And you would have died had not D'Argo and I saved you."  
"Yes. - Furthermore, contact with a weaker mind allowed her to escape a body that would be of no use to her."  
"A weaker mind?" John pointed at the red Zhaan. "But she's still part of you, right?"  
The red Zhaan laughed. "Well, not anymore, ya big bohunk, you."  
"Why does she talk like that?" John asked.  
"Well, actually, she's in you right now. She's using your speech pattern, I think because she knows it annoys me."  
"The way I talk annoys you?"  
"Not always. It's nothing personal, John."  
"Well, it sounds pretty personal to me. – Wait, did you just say she's in ME?"  
"I warned you not to touch me, John."  
"But, you were dying. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't just let you lie there."  
"By touching me, you let her escape our body."  
"Well," John raised his hands and waved them about. "Get her out! I don't want her inside of me!"  
The red Zhaan danced over and put her arms around John's neck, rubbing his chest. She gave him a peck on the cheek. "Oh come on, Johnny boy. You and I have had a lot of fun while I've been inside. Just ask Aeryn."  
"Aeryn? What – what did you do to Aeryn?"  
"Let's just say there was a lot of heavy sweaty breathing and body to body contact in her cell." Red Zhaan grabbed John's crotch and gave it a squeeze. "She was on top."  
"Oh no!" John said, jumping back.  
"But I'm sorry, John. I'm afraid you were just a big disappointment to her. You failed to fulfill her expectations."  
John pointed at the red Zhaan. "I want you out!" To the blue Zhaan, "How do I get rid of her?"  
The blue and red Zhaan reached out and each took one of John's hands. Surprising even himself, he let them. They then touched hands and let go, of John, but not each other.  
"That's it?" John asked. "That's all?"  
The red Zhaan answered him. "I don't want to be in your body. It's too weak and frail, and it's not meant to last. I just - didn't want to die. Now that my body is healed, I'll go back. In the end it will be mine."  
"I do not think so," the blue Zhaan replied. "In the time that you've been away, I've had a chance to focus and find myself. I am ready for you now. It won't be easy, but I will find my way again." She turned to John. "We will merge and become one, as was before. It will be a long struggle, but the new Zhaan will one day be stronger, and," the blue Zhaan faced the red, "She WILL face more towards the light than the darkness."  
The red Zhaan said nothing to this, scowling. She did have a comment for John though.  
"Thanks for the loan of your body. It was nice to get out for a bit. Maybe we can do it again sometime."  
"I don't think so," Crichton snapped back.  
"You haven't seen the last of me, Johnny boy. When a Delvian soul touches another, part of it is left behind, to become one with the joined soul. And next time you see Zhaan, you'll be seeing me – in her eyes, and then you'll feel me here." She touched his chest.  
John removed her hand.  
"Say hi to Aeryn for me," she said as her parting words.  
The blue Zhaan came up to John and touched his cheek with her free hand. "We'll see you on the other side of consciousness. Thank you, John Crichton, for being my friend."  
"O.K. Zhaan. Go kick her butt," he nodded to the red Zhaan.  
Zhaan smiled. "I don't think it quite works that way, but yes, I will."  
The light grew more intense. Looking up, John saw the Delvian sun, red – turning white and then growing like an exploding nova.

"Whoah!" John put his hands up to his head. The light faded and he was lying down, in the infirmary, the Moya crew all around him – everyone except for Rygel. He thought he heard Rygel though, crying out from somewhere, but the sound was muffled. Zhaan was lying down on an adjacent bed.  
"John? Is it you?" It was Aeryn's voice.  
John looked over. "Aeryn! Hey! You're O.K.! It's great to see you. So, what's been going on?"  
Aeryn didn't say anything. Didn't smile. She just stood looking tired. Then John noticed the bandages on her hands and on her arm.  
"I'm going back to bed," she told D'Argo. "Wake me up when we get to the commerce planet."  
With that, she left.  
John tried to get up.  
"Aeryn, wait! Ow!" He grabbed his head. Then, wincing from the pain in his shoulder, he saw the bandages covering his arms and hands. Touching his face, he felt the bandages there too.  
"What the hell's going on? Did we just go through a war?"  
"You'd better rest, John, "D'Argo told him, pushing John back down onto his bed.  
John grabbed D'Argo by the arm.  
"Hey, D'Argo. What's been happening?"  
D'Argo's voice was passive and calm, as if addressing a child. But John heard the deep vibrato that meant the Luxan's blood was up.  
"John, I know you're not responsible for the past two days. Nevertheless, looking at your face. For the sake of your own health, I think it would be best if you just kept out of my way for a while."  
D'Argo stomped off, carrying his Qualta blade.  
John waved at Chiana, desperate for an explanation.  
"Chiana, hi there!" John smiled.  
Chiana slapped the back of his head. John cried out, seeing stars.  
"OW!!!"  
"I gave you that." She squeezed his hand, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream. "I gave you that too." Then she punched his stomach where there were bruises he hadn't discovered yet.  
"Uggh!"  
"And that. – And I would have blown your head off if Aeryn and D'Argo hadn't stopped me. – Now, if you want to play some more, I suggest you heal first."  
She left.  
John looked around. All that was left was Zhaan, who was lying quietly in her bed – and a large tool case with a thumping coming from inside it. John got out of bed and opened it.  
"Rygel!"  
Rygel popped out. "Where's that Luxan oaf?! He refused to let me out. I might have suffocated in there!" The Hynerian looked at John. "Oh, its you! You murdering, treacherous piece of Drexian sludge! Get out of my way!"  
With that, Rygel jumped down, kicked John in the shin, and waddled off.  
"What the hell is going on here?" John asked, rubbing his shin. "What did I do?"  
He called out to Pilot.  
"Pilot, can you fill me in here?"  
Pilot's hologram appeared in the comm-shell.  
"Crichton. I see you're up again. You might want to wait until after we dock at the commerce planet before blowing my arms off. I'll have need of them until then."  
Pilot's image winked out.  
"Pilot wait"  
John sagged and shook his head. He saw Zhaan looking at him from the bed.  
"Welcome home, John." She smiled and then closed her eyes to sleep.  
John nodded. He pulled Zhaan's blanket up to cover her better, checked her medications, and limped back to his own bed. He dearly hoped there might be a piece of apple pie waiting for him.

**Epilogue** – A few days later.

John, who'd been avoiding everyone for the past few days saw Aeryn waiting by his cell as he rounded the corner and did an abrupt about face, heading back the way he'd come.  
"John, wait!"  
He stopped. Then he turned.  
"Are you talking to me?"  
"I don't recall anyone else named John, onboard."  
He shook his head and continued to walk.  
"John! Please, wait!" She ran after him and touched his shoulder.  
"Ow! That's still a little tender if you don't mind."  
"What's the matter?"  
He turned on her.  
"What's the matter? You and rest of them have ostracized me for something I didn't do. It was not me. – I don't even have the courtesy of knowing what you're blaming me for - because no one will talk to me."  
D'Argo appeared around the corner.  
"Hello Aeryn. Hello John. It's good to see you."  
He smiled and kept going, disappearing around a bend in the corridor.  
"I don't know, but that sounds like talk," Aeryn stated.  
"I don't get it."  
"He met someone on the planet," Aeryn gave a half smile. "I think he's in a good mood. And considering that you blew him out of an airlock, I think he's come around rather quickly. You know what they say about Luxans being quick to anger and slow to forgive."  
"But I didn't blow him out of an airlock – I did that really?"  
John looked in the direction D'Argo had left in.  
"Yes, but knowing that it wasn't you is one thing. Accepting it takes time. – You can either sulk about it or you can join us for a meal. Everyone would be glad to see you."  
John pursed his lips and thought about it. Then he nodded.  
"Company sounds good. A meal sounds good too – as long as it's not food cubes."  
"No, I think we can do better than that. Chiana found us a number of delicacies."  
"Oh, how did she manage that?"  
"We chose not to ask," Aeryn smiled.  
John stopped and touched Aeryn on the arm. He looked embarrassed.  
"Aeryn, there's been something I've wanted to say to you. The bad Zhaan, she told me before she left me what she – made me – do with you – in your cell. I feel really bad that it happened this way and" He stopped, trying to search for the words.  
"Crichton, I found it extremely forgettable. Let's go get some food before Rygel eats it all."  
"OK. – Thanks." He started walking again, but then he stopped. "Forgettable, really?"  
Aeryn nodded. "Yes, totally."  
They walked along in silence for a while.  
"Well, that's probably because it really wasn't me. I mean, I would have done better."  
Aeryn looked puzzled. "If you say so."  
John stopped her again.  
"What, you don't believe me?"  
"I didn't say that."  
"Well, you kind of implied it."  
"Well."  
John bent down to look Aeryn in the eye.  
"Well, what? You don't think I'd be any good, do you?" She didn't answer right away so John continued. "I just want you to know that this will never happen again. But if it were to happen again, I would be a lot better at it – it being the real me. I just don't want you to judge me based on what happened before."  
Aeryn looked uncomfortable.  
"What?"  
"I don't know, John. I don't think it's a big issue. But I don't know if the real you would've been better. I just don't think you have the training for it."  
Obviously insulted, John said, "How would you know? You've never - experienced - the real me. I want you to know that I've done it with many earth woman, and they've all been impressed."  
"Just women? Never with men?"  
"No!"  
"Oh. Seems like men would have presented you with some more variety. - But if you're interested in continuing this sort of thing, maybe you and I can practice. I can show you a few techniques."  
John felt a prickly sensation in his face.  
"What?" was all he managed to say.  
"Well, you seem to have something to prove. I'm giving you the chance. Are you up for it?"  
"Uh I guess. I don't know. Aeryn, I wasn't proposing that we actually"  
"Well, it's the only way to prove your assertions. I tell you what. After the meal, I'll take you on down in the gym on the exercise mat."  
"The gym? I, uh, I would have thought maybe your cell or mine."  
"Cell? No, too many breakables. We'd be better off in the gym."  
"But, what if someone walks in?"  
"Well, they might learn something."  
"You know, Aeryn, I don't know how peacekeepers do this, but humans need a lot more privacy."  
"You fight in private?"  
"Yeah, well" He looked at her. "We fought? That's what we did? We fought?"  
"Yes."  
"And that's all we did?"  
Aeryn nodded.  
"What did you think...?" but she stopped, noticing a shocked look spread over his face.  
"Your skin is turning red. Are you feeling all right?"  
"Yes, I'm fine. This just means I need to eat soon and keep something in my mouth besides my foot."  
She smiled. "Sounds like a good idea."  
They had just about reached the galley when Crichton turned to her and asked, "So, you don't think I'm a good fighter?"

Later, Aeryn and John took a walk up on the terrace, gazing at the green planet that filled the sky of Moya's orbit. They were both silent in thought and seemed content to stay that way.  
When he felt she wasn't looking, John leaned down and sniffed Aeryn's shoulder from behind.  
"Why did you do that?"  
"Do what?"  
"Smell me."  
"I didn't smell you," he lied.  
"Yes you did. You put your nose down next to my skin and inhaled."  
Caught in the act, John admitted guilt.  
"all right, maybe I sniffed you."  
"Why?"  
He gave her an embarrassed glance. "I don't know if this will make any sense to you, - but you smell like home to me."  
She just nodded, and turned away so that he couldn't see the smile that she offered to the sky.

   [1]: http://www.henson.com/home/index.html
   [2]: http://www.scifi.com/farscape/
   [3]: http://www.scifi.com/
   [4]: http://www.oe-pages.com/ARTS/TV/jhc11/



End file.
